Part 21 (1/2)
”Yes, dear, I did. Or rather he met me--as you see.”
”Did you fight with him?” she panted.
”He was too drunk to fight. He ran at me and gave me this, and my first inclination was to give him a sound thras.h.i.+ng. Then I saw it would be no good, in the condition he was in, so I just kept him at arm's length till he tired of it. He went off at last, and I was so afraid he might tumble off the Coupee that I followed him, and he hurled rocks at me whenever he came to a stand. But he got across all right, and I went back and went to bed. Now, what's all the trouble about?”
”He never came home,” she jerked, with a catch in her voice which thought only of Tom had never put there.
”Never came home?”
”And they're all out looking for him.”
”I wonder if he went back to Peter Mauger's.... If he tried to cross that Coupee again--in the condition he was in--”
”He didn't go back to Peter's. Julie went there first of all to ask.”
”Good Lord, what can have become of him?”
The answer came unexpectedly round the corner of the house--Julie Hamon, in a state of utmost dishevelment and agitation, which turned instantly to venomous fury at the sight of Gard and Nance.
Her black hair seemed all a-bristle. Her black eyes flamed. Her dark face worked like a quicksand. Her skirts were wet to the waist. Her jacket was open at the top, as though she had wrenched at it in a fit of choking. Her strong bare throat throbbed convulsively. Her hands, half closed at her side, looked as though they wanted something to claw.
”Did you do it?” she cried hoa.r.s.ely, stalking up to Gard.
”Do what?”
”Kill him.”
”Tom?... You don't mean to say--”
”You ought to know. He's there in the school-house, broken to a jelly and his head staved in. And they say it's you he fought with last night.
The marks of it are on your face”--her voice rose to a scream--”Murderer!
Murderer! Murderer!”
”You wicked--thing!” cried Nance, pale to the lips.
”You--you--you!” foamed Julie. ”You're as bad as he is. Because my man tried to save you from that--murderer--”
”Oh, you--wicked!--You're crazy,” cried Nance, rus.h.i.+ng at her as though to make an end of her.
And Julie, mad with the strain of the night's anxieties and their abrupt and terrible ending, uncurled her claws and struck at her with a snarl--tore off her sun-bonnet, and would have ripped up her face, if Gard had not flung his arms round her from the back and dragged her screaming and kicking towards her own door.
Mrs. Hamon had come running out at sound of the fray. Gard whirled the mad woman into her own house and Mrs. Hamon followed her and closed the door.
Gard turned to look for Nance.
She was nervously trying to tie on her sun-bonnet by one string.